Technically Hers
by Obsessed01
Summary: Mothers don't rock their seventeenyearold boys. Especially when they aren't theirs...technically.


**A/N: Okay, so I'm not the best at Ryan or Kirsten but I love watching the growing relationship between them. I figured I'd try my hand at a Ryan/Kirsten bonding story. I know it's kind of short but it was the best I could come up with. If there are spelling errors, I apologize cause it's like 2 in the morning. Yeah, I think I'm like an insomniac. Most of my one-shots are written during the early hours of the morning. Sorry, enough of my aimless rambling. Onto the story!**

**Technically Hers**

She couldn't remember having seen him eat anything. During the three days he had been back, he had done little more than walk from the pool house to the main house, mumbling whatever greeting was appropriate. She removed the slightly brown bread from the toaster and tried to remember how many days a person could go without eating before they died. However many days it was, she knew Ryan was moving toward it without hesitation. She absentmindedly buttered the toast as she looked at him, standing on the patio, searching the ocean for what she didn't know.

She picked up the plate with the toast on it, made just the way he liked it. She didn't know how she knew that he liked it that way because she couldn't ever remember him telling her.

She reached the spot where Ryan was standing and stood behind him. She could tell he sensed her presence, but did nothing to acknowledge it.

"Ryan."

He half turned and barely looked at her in some sort of greeting.

"I made you some toast, the way you like it."

He glanced briefly at the plate in her hand and saw that the toast was indeed made the way he liked it. Though he couldn't ever remember telling her that. "Thanks, but I'm not really hungry."

Kirsten didn't doubt the truth in that statement. She would have lost her appetite too if she had been through what he had. "Come on, Ryan. You have to eat something. It's been days."

He didn't say anything, just looked at her for a few minutes before reaching for the toast and taking a small bite out of it. As he chewed it, he mulled over the fact that these people actually cared about him. He was still getting used to the fact that they wanted to know where he went and with whom. They cared enough to make him eat when he hadn't in three days.

Kirsten set the plate down on the table. She moved to put a hand on Ryan's back. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Ryan, still looking straight ahead, said, "Talk about what? That the baby is dead and it's all that bastard Eddie's fault? Talk about how I gave up the best thing that ever happened to me? Talk about how I made my best friend run away to Tahiti or some other god forsaken place?" His tone stayed calm and even.

"Ryan, don't talk like that. This wasn't your fault. Things happen." Kirsten realized that that was the most he'd spoken since the day he came home.

He had showed up at the door-he actually rang the doorbell-and it broke her heart that he felt it was no longer his home to walk into. His skin was pale and he looked like he hadn't slept in a while.

"Oh sweetie," she had said, pulling him into a tight hug. "What happened?" She had led him to the couch where she promptly called Sandy.

"Ryan…what…why?" Ryan stood and Sandy pulled him into an embrace.

Tears glistened Kirsten's eyes as she looked at Ryan, at her son, who was finally back home where he belonged.

"Theresa, she…uh…she lost the baby. Eddie, he beat her up. It was a miscarriage."

Kirsten could see Ryan struggling to get the words out. He seemed completely drained, emotionally and physically. She wanted to hold him, to rock him, and whisper soothing words in his ear. But he was seventeen years old. And mothers don't rock their seventeen-year-old sons. Especially when they aren't theirs…technically.

"I just don't understand it," Ryan said, still focused on the ocean. Kirsten patiently waited for him to continue. "Why do I always screw everything up?" Ryan faced her now and she could see that his eyes were wet. He walked over to a lounge chair and sat down.

She didn't know what to say to him. Not for the first time, she wished that parents really did have a manual. Although, she wasn't sure how a manual would help in this situation seeing as how Ryan was, well, Ryan.

"Sweetie, you can't blame yourself." She sat next to him on the chair.

"If I had been there when Eddie came, I could've done something, stopped him somehow."

She reached out and touched his cheek, realizing how young he really was. Too young to be taking these troubles upon himself. Of course Ryan was always a sucker for a damsel in distress. "There are too many what-ifs in life, Ryan. It's all over and done with so you have to stop thinking about that."

He looked at her with sad blue eyes. The tears were threatening to spill. She put an arm around him and rubbed circles on his back.

"I'm sorry," he said, "for everything."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Ever since you and Sandy took me in, I've been nothing but a burden. Starting fights, knocking up girls, chasing away your only son."

It hurt to hear him say that, like the knife that had taken up a permanent residency in her gut was being twisted. 'Your only son'. The words tumbled over and over in her brain.

"Ryan," she practically whispered. Now it was her turn for her eyes to fill with tears. "I have two sons."

She saw she saw the tears spill from his eyes and she was once again overcome with the urge to rock him. She reached out and pulled him into a hug. He surprised her by burying his head in her shoulder and sobbing, proving once again he was still just a kid. "Oh my baby," she whispered in his ear.

They sat like that for a long time, with him crying into her shoulder and she whispering in his ear. It was then that she realized that mothers could rock their seventeen-year-old sons. Especially because he was hers…technically.


End file.
